


Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night

by fhartz91



Series: Klaine One-shots [89]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Supernatural Elements, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: Kurt goes roaming through the woods on the outskirts of Dalton, trying to clear his head. He gets lost, and while he's alone, he runs into a feathery confidante who listens to him gripe about his love life ... or lack thereof.





	Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-write, but I think I might like this one a little bit better. It's literally 180 degrees different from the story it's based off of. Please let me know what you all think. :) Also I know you guys are all going to get the twist in the first few paragraphs. You don't need to tell me xD

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night … take these broken wings and learn to fly … all your life … you were only waiting for this moment to arise …_

Kurt had started singing to punctuate the quiet as he walked the grounds of Dalton Academy, but the more he focuses on the words, on what they mean to him, the more they bring tears to his eyes.

How is it that, by taking a step forward, he’d managed to take so many steps backward?

He’d come to Dalton to escape the bullying he’d been enduring, unchecked, for years at his old high school.

And it worked.

But it came at a price, larger than the hefty one his father had to pay to enroll him here.

Behind Dalton’s red brick walls, where he’s free to be his true and authentic self, he feels more confused than ever. Wasn’t coming out supposed to be the difficult part? But he’d gone through that with flying colors (aside from the roided up jock who’d threatened to kill him). He had the support of his father and his closest friends. And to top it off, he’d found his new sanctuary - a school where he could walk down the hallways with his head held high, and absolutely no fear of being tossed into a dumpster or shoved into a locker.

He should feel complete. Fulfilled.

But he’s not quite there yet.

There’s something missing.

Being accepted for who he is was only half of the dream.

Finding love with someone like him was the other half.

How often had he lamented the fact that he couldn’t walk the halls of McKinley with a boy, or take a boy to prom?

He still can’t, but at Dalton, theoretically, he can.

And when he’d imagined his mythical boyfriend, he didn’t have anyone in mind.

But now, he does.

For all intents and purposes, he’s in love.

And as far as he can tell, the boy in question loves him back …

… as a _friend_.

Kurt thought he could handle that, thought he could be the supportive bestie while his crush explored his options, and the boundaries of his sexuality, but it’s harder than he thought it would be.

It’s kind of breaking his heart.

Whoever said _better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all_ can go die in a fire because this – this ache in his chest that gets worse every time Kurt sees him, that keeps him awake at night, that grows thorns and pierces his heart with every breath – sucks.

Kurt stops singing but keeps walking, his feet carrying him past the lacrosse field towards a tree line at the edge of the grounds that he’s never explored before. He knows it’s part of Dalton since the outermost limits of the property are surrounded by a high stone fence that you have to drive through when you arrive on campus. Every inch of the grounds are patrolled by security day and night so, technically, it should be safe.

Still, it looks like the kind of place a lone protagonist might get murdered by a masked man with a chainsaw, even at four in the afternoon.

But Kurt can’t help himself. He keeps walking. He has to make it there. Those trees – looming tall, each topped by a thick crown of green leaves blotting out the sky - seem to be calling him, as if they know of his confusion and have the answers he seeks.

Kurt sighs. He knows he must be lonely – or going insane – if he’s about to consult with trees. Too bad he didn’t bring his phone. He could have called Rachel. Or Mercedes. They’d drive over in a snap bearing popcorn, chocolate, and a stack of old musicals to help him through this crisis.

The only reason he didn’t?

He’s embarrassed.

Leaving McKinley for Dalton, leaving New Directions for The Warblers, was supposed to solve all of his problems.

He doesn’t feel like admitting it didn’t.

He’d feel silly and shallow telling them why.

He walks deeper into the woods (if he can call it that), far enough that he can’t see the towers of Dalton when he turns around. Far enough that he can’t see _anything_ but trees behind him … and that’s when he realizes his mistake. Having turned a full circle twice, he no longer remembers in which direction he came. He’s not a Boy Scout. Kurt Hummel doesn’t do the outdoors. He doesn’t hike.

He has no clue why he chose to start now, alone, and without a link to civilization.

Great. Just great. He came out here to the solitude of nature to find a solution to his problems, and he created a bigger one.

He’s going to die.

In retrospect, that might solve a few of his problems. Plus, it would be poetic. And what else could he ask for in a death (other than it happen in a hundred years instead of today)?

 _Calm down_ , he tells himself. _You’re not going to die_. If he just stays where he is, security is sure to happen by eventually. Or another student. He can’t be the only person who’s ever decided to go walking through these trees.

Kurt turns another circle, squinting through the cluster of trunks, trying to pinpoint a navy blue jacket, or a security officer’s uniform.

Or one of those red cloaked monsters from the movie _The Village_.

Those vibrant red cloaks remind Kurt of the letterman jackets worn by the jocks at McKinley, how he would jump out of his skin whenever he saw a hint of one turning a corner, or passing by the choir room when he was alone inside, and his blood turns to ice. He holds his breath, listening for the sound of footsteps in the dried leaves, the snapping of twigs, overcome by the feeling that he’s not alone.

That he is, in fact, being watched.

He swallows hard, his heart a lump so heavy, it almost drags him to the ground. He considers calling out: “Hello? Is there anyone there?” when he hears a scream – loud and piercing, coming from nearby. He freezes, the sound just about stopping his heart. He grabs his messenger bag, slung around his shoulder, and hugs it to his chest, since it’s the only thing he has with him that can be used as a weapon. He mentally inventories the items inside: two pencils, his spiral bound notebook, his calculus text book, some sheet music - hardly anything he could use to fend off an ax murderer. The calculus book weighs about ten pounds, so if he threw it hard enough, that might slow down his attacker. The pencils are his best bet, but they, unfortunately, are a close quarters sort of weapon.

The sheet music is entirely useless, unless he finds himself pursued by a homicidal maniac with a penchant for show tunes.

Kurt remains still as solid stone, waiting to see if that scream will happen again, even though he knows it would probably be a wiser decision to run. He may not know which direction the dorms are, but _anywhere but here_ seems like a good direction to go. As his feet come close to acting on that decision, he hears the screech again - closer this time.

It doesn’t sound human. That’s a positive, he guesses.

But it _does_ sound like it’s coming from directly above him, and that’s a definite negative.

Kurt rolls his eyes up, his body shaking as he visualizes the kind of creature that might make that sound poised in the branches above him, waiting for him to notice it so it can pounce on him monster movie style. But it’s not above him. It’s in the tree beside him, up and to the left, on a branch growing perpendicularly out from the trunk and stretching its woody fingers over his head.

It’s not a monster. It’s a raven, peering down at him with what seems to be a curious expression on its feathery, black face.

The two consider one another in silence. Then, unexpectedly, the bird opens its beak and emits the same, guttural screech. Kurt yelps in surprise.

“Oh, Jesus Christmas! Do you _have_ to do that?” he snaps. He hasn’t seen a real live raven before so he never knew they sounded like that – like an old man choking on toast. But there is a sense of gravitas to this moment. From the little he knows about ornithology, ravens are rare in Ohio. If he had his phone with him, he’d be taking a ton of pictures right now.

Maybe he could show them to Mr. Phelps, his life science teacher, and bring up his grade.

He makes a note to never forget his phone on any outing he takes ever again.

He steps back to get a better look at the black smudge of an animal inclining questioningly at him. It caws, head bobbing left and right, watching him with keen interest.

“What am _I_ doing here?” Kurt asks, assuming that’s the only question this bird might have for him, seeing as Kurt has been asking himself that same question for the past several minutes. _Why the heck is he in this forest? What did he think he was going to find in here?_

The raven caws.

“I’m just … going for a walk,” Kurt explains. “Clearing my head. Trying to get my thoughts in order. I’m … actually struggling through some things. Relationship sort of issues … or the lack thereof.” Kurt blinks at the raven staring down at him and frowns. “And … you’re a raven. You don’t understand a word I’m saying.”

The raven recites a series of mimicked word segments that sound unsettlingly like an answer. Then it sits on its branch and tilts its head – its default position for waiting for Kurt’s response.

But Kurt knows it’s not. He knows rationally that a raven, as intelligent as they are, is not asking him questions, nor waiting for an answer. But Kurt is tired – emotionally beat. He has things he needs to get off his chest, but he has been hard pressed to find a non-invested third party ear anywhere.

He had originally intended on commiserating with the trees. He’s in no position to be picky.

Besides, he just needs to vent. He doesn’t necessarily want someone to solve his problems, just to listen.

Considering his limited options, bird it is.

 _Alright_ , he thinks. _Here goes nothing_.

“If you want to know, then here it is.” Kurt sighs, and for all of the ridiculous this is, it seems the raven takes a step closer and leans a hair in. “I transferred to Dalton expecting everything in my life to change for the better. And it has, for the most part. I feel free – free to be me for the first time in my life. With a few minor exceptions, Dalton is everything I could have asked for and more … except for one thing.” The raven takes a step closer, tilts its head in the opposite direction, and continues to stare, patiently waiting. Kurt stares back at it, expecting it to tire of him and fly away just to prove his point, but it jerks its head up as if encouraging him to continue. “You see, Mr. Bird … can I call you Mr. Bird?” The raven clucks. Kurt takes that as a _yes_. “There’s this guy. His name is Blaine. He’s my best friend, and I would never, ever want to lose his friendship, but …” He cringes at how clingy he sounds. How whiny. “I don’t want to sound reductive. I don’t want my life to be about _needing_ a boyfriend, because it’s not. My life is about me. Me, me, me. I know that. I really do, but … it feels so good having him around - having someone standing in my corner, cheering me on, holding my hand when things get rough. Someone who isn’t my dad, or my friends from Glee. Someone who looks at me and sees the things that have been so hard for me to see my whole life.” Kurt puts up a defensive hand, as if afraid the raven is going to butt in before he gets the chance to finish. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always known that I’m better than Ohio, better than McKinley, better than the bullies and the drama. I don’t necessarily need him to point that out to me. I can stand on my own two feet.” Kurt shakes his head. “But it’s nice, you know? I don’t _need_ a boyfriend. But I’d like one. I’ve never had a boyfriend before, and I’d like it to be him.”

The raven ruffles it wings, clucks softly, and Kurt can’t help the crazy feeling that the thing honestly seems interested.

“I’m sure you know,” Kurt jokes to get over the awkwardness that he’s pouring his heart out to a bird. “Flying all over, you must stumble upon people falling in love from time to time? An impromptu proposal in the park, or friends skating on the Auglaize River in winter, discovering for the first time together just how much they love one another? Or maybe I’m just a silly romantic, and I should get my head out of the clouds. I want a chance with him so badly. But, if it was meant to happen, shouldn’t it have happened by now? I mean, we have coffee together every day, we sing flirty duets together …” Kurt shoots a nervous glance around on the off-chance other ears are overhearing this part of the conversation. There aren’t any. It’s just him, the raven, and the trees. “I thought … all of that meant something. But I think I just made it all up in my head? Didn’t I? I mean, what did I expect? For him to show up at my bedroom door with a red rose and say, ‘ _I’ve been waiting for you my entire life. Please go out with me?_ ’?”

The raven hops down a few branches closer to him.

“It’s not just that he’s handsome,” Kurt muses with a far off look. “He’s talented, kind, charming ... I’ve never met anyone like him. I look up to him. He’s confident, and so damned sure of himself. Sometimes it’s almost like he’s not human or something. Or … you know … too good to be true.” Kurt leans back on an obliging tree and exhales. “And you know what they say – if something’s too good to be true, it usually is.” Kurt picks at a sliver of loose bark, working it away from the trunk as he talks. “I wish I was better at the casual flirting thing, you know?” He asks the question, expecting an answer. When he doesn’t get one, he makes a face for being stupid, but feels compelled to continue. “I wish I had some kind of sign, that I knew for certain he and I are on the same wavelength. That he’s not just that way with everybody. That he’s interested in me … as more than a friend.”

Clouds pass overhead, and the sky suddenly darkens. From what Kurt can see of their grey silhouettes, it looks like it might rain. The raven twists to look over its shoulder, at the sunlight barely breaking through the cover, then back at Kurt, giving him an apologetic sounding _caw,_ and Kurt knows that their conversation has come to an end.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Go on.” Kurt waves the bird away. “I know you’ve got … raven things to do. Thanks for the ear. I’d better get going, too … if I can find my way out of this place.”

The raven hops up to a higher branch, ready to launch, but before it spreads its wings, it gestures ahead with an emphatic nod. Kurt looks in that direction, and with a hint of understanding, points.

“That way?” he says, feeling the stupidest he has since this began. But considering he’s lost, he’s not about to look a potential gift horse in the mouth. “Dalton is that way?”

The raven caws. It sounds affirmative.  

“Well, thank you very much, Mr. Bird. I’ll be seeing you … I guess.”

The bird nods again and takes off. It circles once overhead, then flies away. Kurt watches the raven go, swiftly climbing higher, disappearing above the leaves. Kurt wishes he could fly away, too. Not from Dalton, per se, but from himself for a while. Take a break from his hectic life and his confusing feelings so he can come up with an answer to this. Pluck up the courage to do what he wants to do and ask Blaine out. Birds have long been thought of as messengers of the natural world, right? Maybe this raven, appearing out of nowhere in a place where it shouldn’t logically be and listening to his woes, is the sign Kurt was looking for.

But a sign of _what_ exactly?

Only Kurt can answer that question. No mystical bird can make that decision for him.

And he can’t expect the universe to lend him a hand twice in one day.

***

It’s around eight o’clock in the evening when a knock on the door of Kurt’s room lures him out his ear buds and the super angsty playlist he’d compiled earlier just for the occasion. It was a combination of show tunes he’d been narrowing down for an upcoming audition, along with some standard ballads, and a few top 40 tunes he thought Blaine would appreciate.

Songs they could be listening to if they were in his room together, lying side by side on his bed, sharing his ear buds, and enjoying the rain that had been falling steadily for the last few hours. Kurt always thought of rain as romantic, but right now, it only seemed to emphasize how lonely he felt.

“Who is it?” Kurt calls, puzzled because he’s not expecting anyone.

The halls have been quiet since before dinner time. It’s Friday night, and a large majority of the boys in his dorm head home over the weekend … including Blaine. He would be, too, except he has a huge project due in lit class on Monday. Besides, Finn would be spending the weekend attached to Rachel’s hip, and he wasn’t in the mood to act as third wheel. When no one answers, he says, “I’m coming,” and gets up to open the door. He fully expects to find the hallway empty, himself the victim of a good-natured practical joke, probably by Jeff or Nick. They’d been hounding him lately to tell them what’s up. They always seem to be the first to notice when something is bothering anyone. But instead, he comes face to face with Blaine, standing somewhat strangely with one arm tucked behind his back. Kurt’s face lights up.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Blaine says, a guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late, but I waited till the dorm emptied out because I wanted to get you alone.”

“No, no, no. That’s okay.” Kurt steals a quick glance at Blaine’s outfit. He’s out of uniform, and a bit less casually dressed than usual in pale yellow slacks and a short-sleeved white button down, with a black-and-white checkered sweater vest over that. His hair is slicked down, as per usual, but it looks more meticulously styled.

Like he’s going on a date.

Which brings Kurt’s attention to the state of his own clothes - half dressed in his uniform, blazer gone, tie loosened, top button unbuttoned. He’s barefoot, and his slacks have to be wrinkled to the high heavens. He’s not sure that his room is Blaine’s last stop, but he feels like he should excuse himself for a moment to change.

“Shoot,” Kurt says, crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously. “What’s so important that you waited until now to talk to me?”

“Uh … _you_ are, actually.” Blaine pulls his hand from behind his back, and with it, a single red rose. It’s positively exquisite – the single most beautiful rose Kurt has ever seen. “Because I’ve begun to realize that maybe I’ve been a tad too subtle when it comes to my feelings towards you. I’m not good at romance, Kurt. I know how to act it out in song ...”

“You’ve told me that before,” Kurt interrupts, his eyes leaving the rose to focus on Blaine’s face.

“I know. But what I want to re-iterate is the _I don’t want to screw this up_ part. Because I think there’s a chance that I have been. I’ve been stumbling through a mess of new feelings, most of them for you, and I haven’t been handling them well. And for that, I apologize.” He takes Kurt’s hand, raises it, and slips the rose between his fingers. Then he leans forward and whispers: “I’ve been waiting for you my entire life, Kurt. Please … go out with me?”

Kurt looks at Blaine, and his beautiful rose, in awe. How had he gone from hoping for exactly this to it showing up at his doorstep in one day? Kurt had no idea. He wasn’t that lucky. “How did you know …?” Kurt shakes his head, disbelieving, unable to complete that question. Because Kurt can only come up with one answer, and it’s too impossible to believe.

That raven wasn’t necessarily a sign, he tells himself.

Maybe his luck is simply changing.

Falling in love with your best friend? It happened every day, didn’t it? Why shouldn’t it happen to him?

“Call it intuition.” Blaine shrugs, smiling as Kurt puts the rose to his nose and sniffs. “Or … we can say a little birdy told me.”

 


End file.
